Arnav had been living under his aunt Meena’s roof for three months. Thirty-two, jobless after the startup collapsed, and with nowhere else to go. Meena was forty-eight, widowed, sharp-tongued, and ran a tight household on the money her late husband had left and the rent she collected from two flats. She had taken him in with a smile that never reached her eyes.

“Beta, ghar toh mera hai. Rules mere.”